not like this
by what a lovely way to burn
Summary: — she had wished, once upon a star, that druella would become a member of the black family. but not like this.


_**author's notes:** this is a repost from my previous account_.

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 **not like this**

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Walburga Black isn't normal. After all, what normal person lusts after men and women alike? And, as if that wasn't already enough, she finds herself not caring about gender identity or age or sexuality like her parents.

She can't remember when, precisely, she discovered this fact, but she daren't tell anyone. For she knows that, should her strict, uptight parents find out, she will be disowned — cast out into the streets to fend for herself.

No, she can't tell anyone, even though the secret weighs upon her chest.

She also can't let anyone know that she is in love with her sister-in-law.

•

The first meeting with Druella Rosier is at a winter gala thrown by the Rosiers. She is barely fourteen, and rather short, while Druella is nearly sixteen and tall and willowy. The young women both escape from the party to the balcony for some fresh air and find themselves together.

"It's a lovely party, isn't it?" Walburga ventures.

Druella sneers. "Fools," she says rudely, nose turned up. "The entire lot of them."

Walburga bristles at that. "Fools?" she inquires. Her voice is completely calm. "The Dark Lord is rising to power, Druella, and the gala is to celebrate this occasion. I am sure he would not take kindly to being called a fool."

Druella stutters for a minute. "I was not calling the Dark Lord a fool, _Wallie_ ; I was speaking of the stuffy Purebloods in there, fawning over Tom Marvolo Riddle in hopes of gaining his favour."

Fuming, Walburga opens and shuts her mouth several times. _Merlin_ , she hates that nickname! "And what is wrong with gaining the Dark Lord's favour, _Dru_?" she inquires frostily. "In fact, if I remember correctly, your own father is in there falling over himself and acting like the 'fools' you so despise."

The other girl's cheeks mottle an unattractive red. "How dare you!" she exclaims, whirling to face Walburga. Her rich emerald-green dress flares with her motions and her eyes flash in anger. "You are a guest here, Walburga, not a member of this family, and I refuse to let you insult me and my parents in our own home."

"And what are you going to do about it?" Walburga asks viciously.

Before the blonde can answer, a high, trilling voice calls her name. The click of high heels, a sound that Walburga knows all too well and hates, draws closer and closer until a gorgeous blonde who looks like Druella's older sister opens the glass door leading out to the balcony.

Walburga pushes away the jealousy that springs inside her chest at the woman's golden, tanned beauty — she'd always hated her pale-as-snow skin and jet-black hair, and her mother's biting comments about how she takes after her father make her dislike her features even more, so she despises reminders that she isn't the daughter her mother wants.

"Druella!" exclaims the woman. Walburga finally remembers her name: Minou Rosier, Druella's mother. She has to admit that the woman looked stunning for her age — whatever age that is. Long, golden ringlets, wide doe-shaped green eyes, and a perfect hourglass figure that any woman would give a thousand Galleons for. "Darling, why aren't you indoors? You'll catch your death of cold out here!"

Druella rolls her eyes. "I am conversing with Walburga, Mother. No need to make a fuss."

Walburga nearly chokes. If she ever spoke to her mother that way, she would receive a slap to the cheek for her impertinence and be locked in her room for a day for 'acting up.'

"That's nice, dear," Minou says fondly. "Well, have a nice chat and mind to come inside if you feel a chill." She smiles at Walburga, and the young raven-haired teen feels her eyes prickle with tears at the woman's kindness.

 _This_ is a _real_ mother — someone who truly cares about her daughter's wellbeing. _Nothing_ like Irma Black.

•

The next time the two meet is Walburga's sixteenth birthday — the twenty-first of April. Her mother, despite her failings as a mother, throws the best balls of the entire Wizarding society. It is considered a huge honour to receive an invitation to anything Irma Black, née Crabbe, hosts.

Druella finds Walburga hiding in the extensive gardens. She is sitting, slumped, on a white marble bench with designs of carved ferns and flowers.

"Happy birthday," she says softly. Walburga's head jerks up when Druella speaks — and for some reason, her heart leaps wildly in her chest at the sound of her voice.

"Thank you," she replies. "If there's one thing my mother is good at, it's parties." She is unable to keep the bitterness from her voice, and ducks her head so her face is completely hidden by the shadows. "Not mothering or even caring about her children at all — she doesn't care about any but my brother, Cygnus."

Sighing, Druella sits down on the bench beside the raven-haired girl. "Men are always valued over women, Walburga. It isn't something to be ashamed of." She smirks. "It just makes it easier to blow 'em all out of the water when they underestimate us."

Walburga sniffs. "True," she concedes. She changes the subject abruptly: "Why are you out here instead of acting the life of the party?"

"Why aren't you?" counters Druella. "The ball is in your honour, after all."

She shrugs, but doesn't answer. How can she when she herself doesn't even know?

Druella's lips turn up at the corners. "Don't feel like it?" she asks. Walburga shrugs again and tilts her head from side to side.

"I suppose," she replies in a low voice. "I hate being the center of attention."

"I understand," Druella says quietly. "I do, too."

Nothing more is said; nothing more needs to be said. The girls sit together on the bench for quite a while, shivering slightly in the cool night air and enjoying the sight of the twinkling stars overhead.

•

The third time is at the Christmas ball hosted by the Malfoys. Walburga is clad in a periwinkle dress of thin material that dips scandalously low in the front and which takes her breath away — literally. The corset is tied as tightly as the Black family elf, Kreacher, was able to pull it.

After climbing quite ungracefully from the carriage hired by her mother — and hoping no one saw it — Walburga sticks her nose in the air and holds the skirt of her dress up so the hem doesn't brush against the snow as she ascends the stairs. The butler — or whatever they were called — at the door bows deeply and takes the invitation she holds out for him. It is the only way to keep those not invited out.

Once inside the manor, she follows the laughter and the lilting melody of what sounds like a violin and piano duet. It leads her straight to the ballroom. When she reaches the lavishly decorated room and enters, searching the room for someone she recognized, her eyes immediately fall upon a certain blonde girl a few years older than herself, wearing a metallic silver dress with a black fur stole wrapped over her shoulders. Walburga averts her gaze quickly, not liking the traitorous clenching of her stomach at the sight of the other girl's bare, creamy shoulders.

"Ah, Miss Black!" exclaims a portly man in a deep forest green velvet waistcoat. "This is my son, Orion." He smiles, sharp teeth flashing, which makes his features resemble a barracuda. "Your second cousin — and your intended."

Walburga's heart drops into her high heeled shoes. Forcing a smile, she holds out her hand to the gangly boy accompanying the man and tries to keep her nerves at bay. The boy leans over her hand and places a sloppy wet kiss to the back. She watches him down the slope of her nose and visibly wipes her hand on the skirt of her dress. "A pleasure," she lies. She inclines her head politely and excuses herself.

•

"So you're claiming Orion for yourself, huh?"

A voice snaps Walburga out of her trance. Her eyes close and she breathes deeply. "I am not _claiming_ him, Druella. Merlin, I don't even bloody _want_ him!" She wipes her eyes, carefully avoiding the tastefully-done makeup charms applied by her house elf. She had found a guest bedroom with pastel pink, flowered wallpaper and a rickety bed up on the top floor near the attic and plumped down on it.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Druella says. "Are you crying?"

"No," sniffs Walburga, blinking rapidly to dry her tears.

"Oh, Wallie." The blonde sits down next to her and ignores the screeching protests of the old bed. It was, perhaps, the only time she'd ever actually liked the nickname because it wasn't used in a taunting way. Walburga finally gives in to the tears.

"I hate him," she cries. "I don't want to marry — not him, at least, and not right away. I'm not even of age yet!"

Druella shrugs. "It's the Pureblood 'way,'" she says. Her voice is flat and toneless, as though she were reciting a lesson. "Marry your relations young, pop out kids, die young."

"But what if I don't want to marry a —" Walburga falters. Can she trust Druella? They always seemed to comfort one another when they spoke, and the secret is burning a hole in her chest. "A man," she finishes. "What if I don't want to marry a man?"

Druella's painted mouth opens and shuts a few times. She blinks like an owl and then snaps back to attention. "Oh, Walburga, thank Merlin. I thought I was the only one! I mean, I know that Muggles are like this, but I didn't know if I was 'wrong' in the Wizarding world or not."

"You're not 'wrong,'" Walburga says softly. "You're like me, right?"

Druella nods. "Oh, thank Merlin!" she repeats, flinging her arms around the younger girl. When she draws away and clears her throat in embarrassment, she finds Walburga just watching her. She tilts her head and a quizzical look appears on her face. "What?" she asks.

Walburga licks her lips, then makes a face at the horrible-tasting lip color she had been forced to wear. She coughs lightly and asks, "Do you want to experiment? You know, like —"

She's cut off by Druella laughing softly. "I know what you mean," she promises. "I've been around the block. I have a fair idea of how this stuff works."

Walburga is sure her face is bright red by now, but she pushes that away. This is it — her first time. And with a woman, no less! "Well, er, we're in a bedroom," she observes so as to not let the awkward silence get the best of her. "Shall we, uh, do it in here? Or should we move?"

"Here's fine," assures Druella. "Though the old bed may be a tad problematic." Then she turns around and hunches her shoulders. "Can you untie me, please?"

Hands trembling, Walburga unknots the tightly laced corset and admired the poise it must take Druella to wear it so tight. She's positive she never could. Druella steps out of her dress when it's completely undone and stands in the rather drafty room in nothing but her undergarments. She then returns the favor, helping Walburga out of her stifling dress. They face away from each other and take off their undergarments, the last barriers between them.

"Ready?" Druella asks.

Walburga's stomach is aflutter with nerves and worries about her body not being as good as others Druella has seen, but she shakes it off and replies, "Ready."

They turn.

•

Walburga doesn't know what time it is when she wakes up, but she does know that she's warm and there's a pleasant ache all across her body.

She turns her head and finds that she is in a separate bed than Druella, who is across the room, and there is a warm blanket spread over her. She throws it off and slides her feet over the edge. A thick rug meets her toes, and she realizes that she can't still be in the attic bedroom at Malfoy Manor.

The door opens just then and Minou Rosier pokes her head in. Spotting Walburga, she whispers, "Ah, good, you're awake. Get dressed and come down when you're ready." She closes the door again.

Looking around, Walburga spots her dress from the previous night. She slips out of bed and as the air brushes against her in places it never would if she had her underclothes on, she finds that she is completely naked. Flushing, she imagines Druella just pretending to be asleep and secretly watching her. No matter that they'd seen and explored one another's body aplenty; it's the morning after, and she's self conscious. She hurries into her clothes and carries her heels in her hand to avoid clicking down the stairs and waking everyone.

As she makes her way toward the door, Druella shifts under the covers and makes a little snuffling sound. Walburga freezes in place, but the sleeping blonde merely turns over and begins snoring again. She breathes a sigh of relief and carried on, making it to the door and closing it behind her with a soft snick.

•

Once downstairs, Walburga is startled to find two clothed house elves waiting for her at the bottom.

"Good morning, Missy Black," one squeaks. Walburga guesses that it is a female; the voice is higher than Kreacher's.

"Er…" she's never really talked to house elves before; her mother didn't let her. "Good morning. What's your name?"

The female elf tugs her bat-like ears down and holds them in a gesture of respect. "I be Tibby, Miss. This be my brother, Boppy." She motions to the elf beside her, who is a bit shorter with smaller ears. He tugs them down as well, and Walburga smiles a bit.

"Can you tell me where I can find your Mistress?" she asks.

They immediately jump and scurry off down the hall, waving back at her. "This way," they call, "follow us!"

They lead her down the carpeted and wallpapered halls and into a grand room that she guesses is the sitting room, where Minou Rosier sits waiting for her. They bow, holding their ears, and crack away.

"Sit, darling," urges Minou. "You must be hungry." Is it Walburga's imagination, or is that a twinkle in her eye? "Blink!" she calls.

An elderly elf, wrinkled and hunched, pops into the room. Walburga can't tell what gender it is, but it's wearing a patched white checkered apron that she can tell has been used for many years, and she wonders again why all the Rosier elves are clothed. "Yes, Mistress?" Walburga winces at the grating sound of the elf's voice; it sounds as if the poor thing is speaking through a mangled throat.

"Bring us a pot of Earl Grey, please," she requests. "And perhaps some of those delicious biscuits you make."

Blink bows and pops away.

"Now, then." Minou faces Walburga, and she looks everywhere but straight at the blonde woman. "I found you asleep with my daughter, naked, at Malfoy Manor. Thankfully, I was able to Apparate you both out. But what do you suppose might have happened had your mother or, really, any of the guests stumbled upon you?"

She blinks. Tilts her head. "I — don't know," she replies truthfully. Would it truly be so bad to finally have the secret out there?

Minou leans forward, face grave. "Walburga. I am not against your relationship with Druella. But there are those that would be. Your mother, for example. She would disown you. You understand this, right? You — will — never — be — safe."

Blink Apparates back in just then and places a silver tray down on the table. On it rests a delicate teapot, two upside down tea cups, and a china plate heaped with what appear to be shortbread biscuits. Walburga's mouth waters and she is sure Minou can hear the sound of her stomach rumbling. She blushes at the thought.

"Help yourself," Minou encourages. She pours some tea into each cup, stopping the flow with a flick of her wrist. Handing a cup to Walburga, complete with a saucer and a biscuit, she picks up her own cup and sits back.

Nibbling on the biscuit, Walburga sips her tea. It's not too hot, for which she is thankful; Kreacher always serves it near boiling.

"You mustn't tell anyone of your orientation," cautions the older woman. "I tell you this in hopes that you will not be as foolish as I was in my youth." Walburga leans forward, sensing a story.

"I am bisexual," begins Minou. "I told my friend, who told another friend, who told many, many people. I was shunned for years, never invited anywhere, locked in my room to cover my mother's shame. Eventually, the news died down, but some still remember." She looks down at her hands. "Walburga, this news could ruin you. You would be disowned — not just by your family, but by the entire Pureblood community. Not many wix are anything but heterosexual. Other sexual orientations are common amongst Muggles, and you know many Purebloods think of Muggles as the scum of the earth. They will treat you no better if this news leaks out."

Walburga nods, slightly frightened. She will keep it a secret, even if it kills her. She will marry Orion, and bear his children.

And she will remember Druella the entire time.

She leaves after finishing her cup of tea, with Minou's warning of 'tell no one' playing on her head on repeat. She had been pressed to take a box of biscuits home as a gift and to show where she had been — apparently the biscuits are a Rosier specialty.

She isn't legally old enough to Apparate yet, but she's a Pureblood and Purebloods are taught things that ordinary wix aren't, so she spins on the spot, clutching the box of shortbread biscuits, shoes still held in her hand, and disappears with a sharp, loud crack.

•

Her mother's reaction to staying out all night is nothing more than Walburga expects: a backhanded slap that leaves the world spinning, and being locked in her room for the weekend. In fact, it's less than she had prepared herself for, and she relaxed slightly once the lock clicks. At least Irma has no idea what had happened that night out; the punishment could have been a lot worse.

She doesn't have her wand, because she would be able to unlock the door with a simple 'alohomora,' but she does have books. And the memory of what she did with Druella. That's enough for her.

Christmas Day falls on a Thursday this year, leaving the rest of Friday and the entirety of Saturday and Sunday stuck in her room. It's boring, but she's used to it by now.

She's surprised — pleasantly so — when the sound of a key rattling in the lock comes late Sunday evening. She is sprawled on her bed, flat on her stomach, with a book, but she immediately slides off her giant four-poster and plops down in her reading chair in the corner of the room.

"Walburga," says her mother from the hallway, "come downstairs. We have some delightful news." Walburga hears her footsteps recede as she walks away.

•

The 'delightful' news is not delightful. Not even the slightest.

Minou and Druella Rosier sit together on the high-backed settee in the parlor. Lord Rosier, the patriarch of the family, is nowhere to be seen, though Walburga guesses he's off speaking with her father in the study.

The younger blonde's eyes are slightly red, her round cheeks flushed. She looks downright miserable.

"Go on," encourages Irma. "Tell Walburga what's to happen."

"I'm to marry your brother." Druella's voice is dull and her throat sounds scratchy, as if she had been crying.

And Walburga's world falls apart.

•

There is nothing she can do; the two are 'promised.' There will be no forbidden love story for Druella and Walburga, no happily ever after.

The wedding is the biggest celebration of the century — two Pureblood families uniting, two families of the Sacred 28. Druella offers Walburga a place in the wedding as a bridesmaid, but she can't do it, can't bear to watch from the side of the only person she's ever thought of as a possible romantic interest.

And so she sits with her family, between her mother and father, and watches as Druella Rosier marries Cygnus Black III and becomes her sister-in-law.

•

The years pass, and eventually Walburga is handed over to Orion to be married off and produce heirs as quickly as possible.

She still loves Druella, though she has buried the emotion deep within her — so deep she fears she can never love again.

There is pain as she watches Druella's stomach swell with her brother's children, but she has given up — given in to the fact that she and Druella can never be a couple. She settles for tea parties with Druella, and little chats about their children, because that's all that can ever happen between them.

She had wished, once upon a star, that Druella would become a member of the Black family.

But not like this.


End file.
